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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28140351">sweet, like icing sugar on her tongue</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zofiecfield/pseuds/Zofiecfield'>Zofiecfield</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kitchen Stories - Bly Manor - Short One Shots [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Feelings, Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:36:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,721</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28140351</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zofiecfield/pseuds/Zofiecfield</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dani and Jamie bake Christmas cookies together (with a little help from Owen) and savor the sweetness of the moment.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dani Clayton/Jamie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kitchen Stories - Bly Manor - Short One Shots [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057895</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sweet, like icing sugar on her tongue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dani sailed across an open sea in a battered wooden crate, the water jostling her lightly as the snow fell around her.  She was warm in spite of the snowflakes dusting her hair and lingering on her eyelashes. </p><p>So delightfully warm, she might just curl up and sleep for a bit.</p><p>“Dani,” the snowflakes whispered as they kissed her cheeks.  She hummed along in harmony with their voices, a sweetly familiar tune. </p><p>They kissed her eyelids and the bridge of her nose as the waves lulled her gently off to sleep. </p><p>“Dani, don’t make me tickle you,” the snowflakes breathed against the skin of her ear.  “Dani…”</p><p>The snowflakes, true to their word, slid their warm fingers under the edges of her t-shirt, soft and feather light, and began to –</p><p>Dani’s eyes popped open.</p><p>“Finally!”  Jamie grinned at her and leaned down to lay another kiss on her forehead, the bridge of her nose, one cheek, then the other.   </p><p>She was straddling Dani’s hips, bouncing the bed gently in her excitement.  “Wake up and play with me.  It’s snowing!”</p><p>Dani smiled sleepily up at her, rubbing her eyes to shed the last of the dream. </p><p>“I thought you were snowflakes,” she said around a long yawn. </p><p>The fondness on Jamie’s face as she said the nonsense words could have melted a foot of snow in an instant.  <em>God</em>, she loved that woman.</p><p>Dani reached up and attempted to drag Jamie down onto her chest.  Jamie propped herself up on one elbow and peppered Dani's cheeks with light kisses while her fingers continued their happy path along Dani’s stomach. </p><p>Dani squirmed under the touch.  “I’m not going to talk you into snuggling, am I?” she managed, between giggles.</p><p>“Later,” Jamie whispered against her lips, still grinning widely. </p><p>Dani groaned.  She pushed hard with her free leg and flipped their positions, pinning Jamie down beneath her.  “Promise?”</p><p>“Promise,” Jamie said, wriggling happily.  “Come on.  I’ll make tea.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Half an hour later, armed with a cup of tea and a bowl of cereal, Dani had caught Jamie’s spunk sufficiently.  She sat on the counter, swinging her legs, as Jamie fiddled with the radio to find Christmas music.</p><p>“So, what do you have planned for us today?”</p><p>Jamie grinned over her shoulder.  “I want to make Christmas cookies.” </p><p>She settled on a station, playing a quiet instrumental piece, and crossed the kitchen to notch herself between Dani’s knees. </p><p>Jamie rested her palms on Dani’s thighs, and ran her thumbs slowly over the flannel there, tracing the contrasting plaid absentmindedly.  She looked up and met Dani’s eyes.</p><p>Dani’s heart shivered as she saw Jamie’s smile shift. </p><p>Giddy one moment, and then, a breathtaking slide into the deeply earnest sentimentality that only Dani ever got to see.   The smile, the glint in the eyes when Jamie split herself open and offered Dani the most secret pieces of herself.</p><p>Dani kissed her softly because she couldn’t bear not to.</p><p>Jamie took a little breath out of the kiss and let the words fall from her lips. </p><p>“I want to make Christmas cookies.  With you<em>.</em>  I haven’t ever done that before.  Louise wasn’t the baking type, or the holiday type, or the care that it’s Christmas type.  And after Louise, well, there certainly weren’t homemade Christmas cookies after Louise.  But I <em>wanted</em> that so badly.  The warm kitchen, the pajamas and the quiet hours devoted to something as pointlessly lovely as decorating cookies, only to eat them right after.  I wanted that, but it never fit.” </p><p>She tucked a strand of hair behind Dani’s ear. </p><p>“Until now.  I want to bake Christmas cookies with you, Dani Clayton.  Because it fits now.  You and me and pajamas in the kitchen, with the snow falling and the Christmas music playing.  It’s a dream, Dani.   My dream.  To be here, like that, with you.”</p><p> </p><p>Dani's breath shuddered in her chest as she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to Jamie’s, their eyes drifting shut. </p><p> </p><p>Dani thought about Christmas when she was 11, baking cookies with Eddie and his mom.  Judy had been so warm, and so kind, and so attentive, but it hadn’t been Dani’s.  None of it – the cookies she decorated at the kitchen table, the tree, the gifts and the lights and the love.  It hadn’t been hers.  She had been welcomed fully, but no depth of welcome could fill the space left by her own empty kitchen.  No lights, no tree, no carefully wrapped gift.  Her mother passed out on the sofa, letting time slide by.  Her father, fading from her as she clung to the little that remained.</p><p>And later, when she was 16 and 17 and 20 and more.  Later, when the comments started.  <em>A woman should know</em> how to bake cookies, how to set a table, how to plan a holiday meal.  <em>This</em> is Eddie’s favorite cookie.  Let me show you how to bake it, Dani.  Dani, <em>a woman should…  </em>All so well-meaning.  All fitting so neatly into the life she had been living, the life she’d let them construct around her without a word of protest.  But she did not want to bake the cookies Eddie liked, or set the fork on the correct side, or time the meal perfectly.  She did not want Eddie, even back then, she knew.  She did not want the picket fence and the yard of kids and the seven Christmas stockings hung neatly in a row on the mantle. </p><p> </p><p>Dani pulled Jamie close, chest to chest, arms wrapped tightly.</p><p> </p><p>Dani wanted <em>this</em>, even before she knew this was a thing she could want, even before this was a dream she knew she could dream.  She wanted this.  These cookies, without expectation, without the heavy weight of next year and next and next and when and should. </p><p>Jamie and pajamas and this battered kitchen with its drafty windows and finicky oven. </p><p>This, just this.</p><p>She had not baked Christmas cookies like this.  All those other times were not this, were nothing like this. </p><p>In truth, a first for her, as much as it was for Jamie.</p><p>“You know,” she said against Jamie’s chest, “it’s my dream too.”</p><p>Jamie kissed her deeply then, slow and soft and full of everything said and everything unsaid. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A shuffle through the secondhand cookbooks on their shelf for a recipe, a dig through the depths of the cabinets, a vague disregard for expiration dates, and they were ready. </p><p>“We are going to need cookie cutters,” Dani mused, surveying their haul.</p><p>“Yeah, about that,” Jamie said, with a mischievous smile.  “I stopped by the neighbors’ this morning, before you woke up.  Figured, they have kids, surely they have cookie cutters too.  I spoke with the littlest one, who is a <em>very</em> perky early riser, and she loaned me these.”</p><p>Jamie pulled open the silverware drawer and produced two metal cookie cutters.</p><p>Dani raised an eyebrow.  “A moose and a squirrel?”</p><p>“From the mouths of babes,” Jamie shrugged.  “The kid assured me these were the best ones.”</p><p>Dani nodded, satisfied.  “Fair enough.  Let’s do this!”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They followed the recipe verbatim.  Promise.  The trouble is the English language leaves so much to be interpreted, doesn’t it?</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Half a cup of softened butter</em>,” Dani read, while Jamie tapped the rock solid stick on the counter.  “Maybe we microwave it for a couple minutes?”</p><p>Two minutes and a puddle of butter later, Jamie peered into the bowl and shrugged.  “Well, it’s certainly soft now.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Sift in flour</em>.”  Jamie looked down at the lumps of flour in the bowl.  “<em>Shit</em>.  Missed that step.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>1t salt</em>.  Jesus, you yanks and your measurements,” Jamie muttered, selecting the <em>1 Tablespoon</em> measuring spoon.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Roll out to ¼ inch thick</em>.”  Dani cocked her head at the amoeba shape occupying their countertop, smacking the sticky rolling pin against an open palm.  “I think, on average, we’ve got that.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They did their best.  Honestly.</p><p>Squirrels without tails, squirrels with broad heads and charred feet. </p><p>Moose missing forelimbs and moose with mysterious bulbous tumors along their rumps. </p><p>A couple of squirrel-moose two-headed monsters, spreading ominously across the sheet pan. </p><p>“We’ll call them squoose,” Jamie said, sauntering one a hybrid squoose across the counter.  She alternated between a chitter and a bellow, while Dani neatly munched the squirrel half off of another.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The icing required a call to Owen.</p><p>“Pretty sure it’s not supposed to look like scrambled eggs, yeah?  Not fit for the queen.” Jamie dipped a finger into the mixture and touched it to her tongue with a grimace.</p><p>Owen chuckled.  “You tried to make royal icing on your first go?”</p><p>“Help us, please,” Dani sang towards the phone, confiscating the bowl from Jamie and dumping it directly down the sink.</p><p>He talked them through the icing step-by-step, sending them back to the neighbors’ door to borrow icing sugar.  “Not the same as regular sugar, loves.  You really need to call me <em>before</em> you start these projects.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And then it was time. </p><p>The icing was tied in plastic baggie bundles, and the cookies were cool, and Owen had sent his love and hung up to start the dinner shift at the restaurant.</p><p>It was time, and if you’d seen these two, sitting side by side at the table, heads bent.  If you’d seen their soft smiles and heard the easy silence between them, which said more than words could have. </p><p>If you’d been there, if you’d seen them, you might have thought you’d tumbled back in time.  Tumbled back into the world they should have had. </p><p>Two little girls who fought and clawed their way into this moment, who did not deserve the fight they had been handed. </p><p>Two little girls who knew how sweet this was, who knew to savor every second of it because a moment like this is a precious thing.   A rare delicate thing in a cruel world.</p><p>Two little girls with ugly Christmas sweater-clad squirrels and moose with trails of flowers creeping across their hides.  Two little girls giggling with icing on their noses, icing on their tongues, icing smeared across their fingertips.</p><p>The pair of them, in their pajamas as the snow fell outside and the Christmas music played low around them.</p><p>Young and light and carefree, at long last, for at least this moment in time.  And to them, that was enough.</p>
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